


find me in the dark

by Nearly



Series: hurt/comfort bingo [6]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Concussions, Episode: s04e05 Buck Begins, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Evan "Buck" Buckley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Vomiting, Whump, delayed symptoms, they have feelings but they don't kiss yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 01:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nearly/pseuds/Nearly
Summary: It’s quiet for a moment, quiet for two—Buck is halfway to dozing again when Eddie speaks up.“You okay?” Eddie asks. Buck blinks his eyes back open and glances over to find Eddie dutifully watching the road, but with a tight grip on the wheel and a worried crease between his eyebrows. Buck has the sudden urge to smooth it away, somehow, but he holds back.Eddie isn’t just asking about the headache or the exhaustion, and Buck knows that, but he’s not sure he wants to get into the rest of it right now. So he shrugs and says, “I’m fine. Hen and the doc both cleared me, remember?”(aka: Buck is a little less fine than he realizes, in the aftermath of the factory fire.)
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: hurt/comfort bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817455
Comments: 34
Kudos: 479





	find me in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> i started this a month ago thinking it would be a quick 2k coda and now here we are with nearly 8k and a lot of feelings...oops?
> 
> i _did_ do a bunch of research on concussions and how delayed symptoms work, but...if anything is inaccurate just ignore it and have fun okay

Caught up as he is in the chaos of the explosion and the fall, Buck doesn’t even realize he’s hit his head. One moment he’s standing on the metal walkway, herding Saleh along. Then he blinks and he’s face down on the floor, ears ringing, and it takes him a second to gather his bearings through the haze of smoke and fire. He gives his head a shake to clear it, and then—

There’s Saleh in front of him, alive and talking, but trapped under one of the vats that must have tipped over in the blast. Buck gives him his oxygen mask and coughs past a lungful of smoke. There’s an ache growing in his skull and his throat burns every time he heaves in a breath but he ignores it all in favour of finding a way to leverage the vat off of Saleh, watching in horror as his eyes begin to close. From there on out everything fades to a blur of  _ get him out, save him, prove that you can do the one thing you were born for,  _ and Buck doesn’t recognize that his team is there until the weight—metaphorical as much as literal—begins to lift from his shoulders. 

It feels like he can breathe again when they finally pull Saleh out, alive, and his eyes might be watering but he’ll blame it on the smoke if he has to. 

Outside, Hen forces him down to sit on the back bumper of the ambulance and starts checking him over, despite his insistence that he’s unhurt. He hadn’t been injured past some minor smoke inhalation after giving his oxygen mask to Saleh. She keeps going anyway. 

“Did you hit your head at all?” She asks, “Any headache, dizziness?”

“Bit of a headache,” Buck admits, “but no dizziness. I just fell a few feet, Hen, I’m  _ fine.” _

She lifts an eyebrow at him and flicks a penlight into his eyes that he does his best not to jerk away from. She hums but seems satisfied at what she finds, sliding the light back into her pocket. “I’d feel better if you got checked out at the hospital, but I think you’re alright.” 

Buck grumbles, but he’s really too tired to put up a fight. He’s exhausted by so much more than just the fire, and it suddenly feels like far too much effort to bother resisting when Bobby chimes in and insists he get properly checked out, too. 

The doctor at the hospital runs through the same tests Hen had already done, but with a far less gentle touch. Buck impatiently reiterates what he’d said before; no dizziness, no nausea, he didn’t hit his head—he’s got a bit of a headache and his throat is a little raw from inhaling all that smoke, but he’s otherwise okay. He’s just  _ tired _ . He’s tired and he’s had the shift from hell and his parents never loved him because he failed to save the son they really wanted. His head hurts. He wants to go home. 

They clear him, just like he knew they would, with a warning to take it easy and come back in if anything else presents itself. Buck is dead on his feet and only half listening, but he’s pretty sure Bobby responds to the doctor before steering him back out of the hospital towards the waiting car. 

Buck dozes a bit on the way back to the station, resting his forehead against the window. The cool glass soothes the ache enough that by the time they’re pulling back up to the firehouse he feels a little more awake, a little less like he was just trapped in a burning warehouse. And when he makes a move to get out of the car, Eddie’s there, just like he always is. 

“Clean bill of health from the doc,” Bobby announces as Eddie steps forward to meet them. 

“Glad to hear it,” Eddie says. When Bobby disappears into the station, he turns a fond little smile on Buck and says, “Show off.” 

Buck shrugs. “I had to do it.” 

Eddie’s smile softens. “I know you did.” 

Buck tries not to think too hard about why that smile makes his heart skip a beat. It’s too much right now, with the whirlwind of the last few days, and he shoves it even further down when Eddie nods towards the stairs and tells him he’s got visitors. 

* * *

The talk with his parents is…well, a little surprising, and a lot strange. He doesn’t really know what he expected but it’s not  _ that _ . He can’t even figure out what he feels. The ache in his head is building again, a low grade thrum of pain at his temples. It’s not serious but it is annoying, and he finds himself standing by his jeep, fiddling aimlessly with his keys and trying to decide if he’s awake enough to drive, when Eddie finds him again. 

“Hey,” he says, more softly than Buck is used to. “Need a ride?”

Buck considers it. He  _ wants  _ to go with Eddie, so badly, and he’s not sure why he hesitates—Eddie is offering him a chance for some company tonight, and Buck is so unbearably overwhelmed by the events of the day that going back to his apartment sounds like literal, actual torture. 

“C’mon, Buck,” Eddie says, giving his shoulder a nudge. “You’re practically asleep on your feet. Let me drive.” 

“But my car,” Buck protests lamely. 

“It’ll be fine here for a bit,” Eddie assures him. “You can pick it up later.” 

“Okay,” Buck relents, if only because Eddie is looking at him like he wouldn’t let him drive away even if he wanted to, and...well, he doesn’t want to. 

Eddie steers him back around towards his truck. Buck locks the jeep on the way by, and then drops the keys in the pocket of his duffel bag before handing it off to Eddie to toss in the back. He sighs as he settles himself in the passenger side, letting his eyes slip closed and tipping his head back to rest against the seat. Eddie’s door slams shut next to him and there’s a bit of shuffling as Eddie situates himself, and then the rumble of the engine fills the small space. 

It’s quiet for a moment, quiet for two—Buck is halfway to dozing again when Eddie speaks up. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. Buck blinks his eyes back open and glances over to find Eddie dutifully watching the road, but with a tight grip on the wheel and a worried crease between his eyebrows. Buck has the sudden urge to smooth it away, somehow, but he holds back.

Eddie isn’t just asking about the headache or the exhaustion, and Buck knows that, but he’s not sure he wants to get into the rest of it right now. So he shrugs and says, “I’m fine. Hen and the doc both cleared me, remember?” 

Eddie cuts a quick glance over at him, skeptical. He hums noncommittally. “Yeah.” 

“Damn,” Buck says, “didn’t think I looked  _ that  _ bad today.” 

That seems to do the trick. Eddie huffs out a laugh, breaking the bit of tension stretching over the center console between them. The sound sends a dull throb to Buck’s temple, but he covers the wince with a fading echo of a grin as Eddie’s smile makes a reappearance. 

“You sure you want to go back to your place?” Eddie asks. “I’ll get you there if that’s what you want, but I’m sure Chris would love to see you.” 

As if Buck was planning on going home anyway. He likes Albert, but he’s not sure he could handle dealing with his new roommate with the way he feels right now. 

“I would kill for a Chris hug right now,” Buck admits, “Movie night?”

“If you’re up for it,” Eddie agrees easily. 

“I’d like that,” Buck says, and settles back into his seat for the drive. 

* * *

The ride isn’t long from the station, and Eddie takes both their bags when they pull to a stop in his driveway. Buck is grateful for the unspoken offer of help, despite his insistence that he’s fine. He slips his shoes off at the door without untying them, though he knows Eddie will rib him for it if he notices, and heads right for the living room where he can hear Christopher’s voice. 

Eddie stops in the doorway long enough to say hello to his son and then splits off to the kitchen, presumably to get dinner started. Buck can only hope he’s making one of the few dishes Bobby has managed to help him master. 

He’s right, thankfully. When Eddie calls them in to get some food, Buck notes that it’s a pasta dish Bobby taught him to make a week or so ago. He takes it gratefully.

The problem is that when he sits down to eat, he takes one look at his plate and his stomach flips. Something about the sight of slippery noodles and thick red sauce makes him swallow past a rush of nausea, and he’s not sure why; the stress of the shift and the fire catching up to him, maybe. He forces down as much as he can handle anyway, and the rest he shuffles around on his plate aimlessly, only partially tuned in to the conversation around him.

He pokes at a mushroom with his fork. It slides in the sauce, leaving a streak of red along the edge of his plate. He stares at it.

He pokes it again and it slips out from under his fork, smooshing up against a noodle. The scrape of the utensil against ceramic grates on his ears, and his headache kicks up a notch. 

“Buck?” 

Buck looks up. He’s a little slow to drag his gaze away from the strangely mesmerizing mushroom, but when he finally meets Eddie’s eyes across the table he finds that Eddie is watching him, probably has been for a while. Eddie flicks a look down at Buck’s barely half empty plate, then back up at him. His eyes narrow. 

“I’m okay,” Buck says automatically. 

Eddie doesn’t look convinced. He leans forward in his seat like he’s about to speak, but Chris chooses that moment to drop his fork down on his empty plate and ask, “Can we watch Transformers?”

Eddie studies Buck for a fraction of a second longer, before reaching forward to stack their few plates together. Buck’s sits on top, looking like it’s barely been touched. Buck’s stomach twists again uncomfortably. 

“Sure, bud,” Eddie says. “Why don’t you and Buck go set that up? I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Eddie has already stepped into the kitchen by the time Buck registers that his name came up in that sentence. Chris has gotten up too, heading for the couch so he can set up their movie. 

“Come on, Buck!” He calls again over his shoulder. Then he pitches his voice a bit louder, presumably so Eddie can hear. “Dad! Bring popcorn, please!”

Buck winces at the volume, but finally gets himself moving and shifts his chair back from the table. He starts to stand, and the world tilts. He grabs for something to steady himself and finds purchase on the back of the chair, curling his fingers around it in a nearly white-knuckled grip while he rides out a wave of dizziness. 

It barely lasts longer than a second or two, but it’s enough to leave him feeling a little unsteady as he blinks away the last of the black spots clouding his vision and tries to straighten up. Eddie’s still in the kitchen; Buck can hear the clink of dishes as Eddie messes around with the dishwasher, each sound sending a throb of pulsing heat straight to his temple. 

He’s fine, right? He’s just so  _ tired.  _ He’d hardly slept the night before his shift, too busy thinking himself in circles about his parents and his sister and his secret dead brother—combined with the fire and everything that came after, Buck is sure he can chalk this up to just a little too much smoke and  _ far  _ too little sleep. 

It takes him a moment to feel steady on his feet again, and the opening music of the movie starts up behind him. Buck turns and makes his way slowly to the couch, slotting himself carefully into his usual spot. Chris hops up onto the cushion beside him and leaves the last spot open for Eddie, just like always. 

When Eddie has finally settled in beside them with the bowl of popcorn, Chris impatiently mashes the play button on the remote until the opening credits start to roll. It’s nice, for a little while. And then, well—Buck asked for this. He wanted a movie night with Chris sandwiched between the two of them, excitedly explaining what Buck had missed by not watching the movie that came before this one. He  _ wanted  _ the laughter and the chatter and the noise, to drown out his thoughts. But now, he can’t seem to focus; he keeps drifting, zoning out for a moment too long until Chris pokes him in the side and asks if he’s paying attention. His head is killing him. The vibrations of sound from the tv aren’t helping, and the light and movement from the screen just make everything worse.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, massages his forehead, even jams the heel of his palm into his eye socket to try and squash the pain long enough to make it through the movie. He breathes through another onslaught of lightheadedness when an explosion rolls through the speakers and straight to his head. 

Before Buck even realizes he’s started to drift again, the tv shuts off with a click. He blinks and shoots a look at Eddie, who is looking back at him with concern, and Chris is no longer between them, which means—oh. The movie is over. Eddie must have sent Chris off to get ready for bed while Buck lost his internal battle with this stupid headache-turned-migraine, and he hates the fact that he’s grateful the room is quiet again. 

He knows how he must look right now, too. Pale, probably. Definitely shaky. He always gets shaky when he’s got a bad headache. God, he just wants to go to bed. 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you’re alright?” Eddie asks, scooting a fraction of an inch closer. 

“Just a good old fashioned headache, Eds,” Buck says. Eddie frowns, mouth twisting like he doesn’t quite believe Buck and wants to argue, but he holds back. Instead he gets up and retrieves the usual blankets and pillows from his hall closet, passing them over to Buck so he can set himself up on the couch for the night. 

"You look wiped out, man," Eddie says, quietly insistent, "Get some sleep."

Buck manages a ghost of a grin as he settles, and Eddie disappears down the hall to make sure his son is in bed for the night. 

* * *

Buck tries to sleep. Really, desperately, he does, but he can’t find a comfortable position and his head won’t stop pounding, no matter how much he tosses and turns and tries to slow his breathing. He can hear Eddie’s soft snores from the room down the hall, and he’s almost tempted to pick his way over there and ask where he keeps his pain meds—but he also hates the thought of waking Eddie up, and he’s sure that if he can just get to sleep, the damned headache will be gone by morning.

He’s not sure if he passes out or if he just drifts away from himself, but the next thing he knows he’s jerking into awareness with a rolling wave of nausea and it’s all he can do not to lose his meager dinner all over Eddie’s carpet.

There’s a jackhammer rattling his skull, or a red hot poker to his temple maybe, or someone’s taken a hammer to his head like he’s an anvil and it hurts _.  _ It hurts like it hadn’t before, a pulsing, blazing pain spreading out from his temple until his whole head feels like he’s been dipped in boiling oil, or something else equally unpleasant. Buck pants shallowly, trying to breathe through it, trying to figure out which way is up as he blinks into the darkness. He groans pathetically, and his stomach rolls again. 

It’s too much. It’s too much and everything feels awful and even his own breathing is too loud—he needs to wake Eddie. This isn’t right. There’s something wrong, something—

He pitches forward when he stands, barely managing to catch himself on the edge of the coffee table before he smashes into it face first. The table shifts with his sudden weight and slides across the carpet, nearly sending him all the way to the floor before he can right himself again. 

The sudden movement makes Buck’s vision swim, and he swallows back the saliva that floods his mouth. He pushes off the coffee table and stumbles into the hallway, barely avoiding smacking into the wall when he trips over the blanket still caught around his legs. Eddie’s snores cut through the air again, razor sharp and slicing right through Buck’s muddled senses. Eddie, right, he was trying to—was he trying to find Eddie? 

His head throbs again insistently. He shoots a hand out to steady himself when the whole hallway seems to tilt, the darkness twisting around him. He overshoots by a mile and finds purchase on a door frame instead. It might be Eddie’s bedroom, but he can hardly tell at this point; Buck throws the door open with more force than he means to, and he recognizes the shadowy shape of the bathroom sink in front of him just in time for his stomach to revolt one final time. 

When he slams to his knees on the tiled floor of the bathroom, the sound punches through the still night air like a gunshot. 

It reverberates through his aching head and sets everything on fire. Buck loses his hold on the nausea and before he knows it he’s bent double over the toilet in the dark, losing what little he had in him from dinner. It’s violent and noisy and painful, and he heaves a shuddering sob between bouts because everything suddenly feels bad and it  _ hurts. _

“Buck?” A confused, sleepy voice calls from the doorway. “Are you okay?” 

God, no, he’s not okay. He feels a little like he’s dying. He gags and heaves again before he can form a response. Chris steps a little further into the small room and leans in, half awake but still concerned. 

“Are you sick?” He asks worriedly. 

“I’m—” Buck manages, but cuts himself off with a shaky breath. He doesn’t even know what he was going to say. He loses the thought halfway to his mouth, and ends up curled over the toilet again with a whimper. 

“I’ll get my dad,” Chris says decisively. He gives Buck what he guesses to be a comforting pat to the shoulder before disappearing down the hallway again as fast as he can manage. 

* * *

Eddie wakes to his son shaking his shoulder frantically in the middle of the night, and he goes from sleepily confused to fully alert in the space of an instant. Chris is saying something about Buck and gesturing down the hall, and when Eddie listens for a moment he can hear ugly retching noises drifting from the bathroom. 

“I think Buck is sick, dad,” Chris repeats again. Eddie tosses the covers off and stands, already moving for the door as he listens to Chris explain.

“I’ll make sure he’s fine, Chris,” Eddie assures him, “Thank you for waking me. Just stay here for a minute, alright?” 

If Buck is sick, that’s something he can deal with, even if it sucks. He’d said he had a headache earlier, and with the stress of everything he’d been dealing with this week, Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if he’d worked himself up to this—it would explain the listlessness Eddie had noticed at dinner. He can handle it. 

That’s what he thinks until he actually  _ sees  _ Buck, at least. He’s hunched over the toilet in the dark, arms practically trembling with the effort of holding himself up, gripping the edge of the porcelain so hard it must hurt. He’s breathing shallowly and far too fast, and it honestly sounds like he might be crying. 

“Shit, Buck…” Eddie mutters. He flicks the light on instinctively so he can get a better look at what he’s dealing with. Buck flinches and slams his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. 

The movement sends ice down Eddie’s spine. He hurries forward, sliding to his knees next to Buck and bringing his hands up to guide Buck’s face towards him. Buck whines softly, but doesn’t open his eyes. 

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Eddie says, patting Buck’s cheek lightly. “Buck, come on.” 

After a moment of coaxing, Buck does. Eddie’s worry only grows, because when Buck gets his eyes open to look at him, his gaze barely meets Eddie’s for half a second before drifting off to the side somewhere above Eddie’s shoulder. He blinks and tries to focus again, but it’s clearly a struggle. 

“Eddie,” Buck mumbles, barely audible, “something’s wrong.” 

“Yeah, I think so too, man,” Eddie agrees. “I know you got checked out already, but—”

But he can’t focus properly, he’d been spaced out all through dinner, he can barely handle the bathroom light and he’s already thrown up violently enough to wake Chris from a dead sleep in the middle of the night. Hen and the doctor at the hospital had both cleared him, but clearly there was something they had missed. 

“Did you hit your head at all, Buck?” Eddie asks, trying to connect the dots into something that makes sense. “Back at the warehouse fire, did you hit your head?” 

“I don’t…” Buck starts. He loosens his grip on the edge of the toilet and leans a little farther into Eddie. “I don’t know. Maybe? Woke up on th’ floor.” 

Eddie curses to himself and shifts his hands, running his fingers over the back and sides of Buck’s head, seeing if he can feel anything out of place. Buck groans at the movement but doesn’t fight it, until Eddie brushes over a particular spot at his temple, just where the edge of his helmet would have dug in. In the brief moment before Buck hisses and jerks back from the contact, Eddie can feel a raised lump where there definitely should  _ not  _ be one. 

“Shit,” Eddie says again, eloquently. 

“Dad?” Chris asks, poking his head in through the door. He looks worried. “What’s wrong with Buck?” 

“He hit his head pretty hard at work, bud,” Eddie explains, “and we didn’t know, but I’m gonna get him checked out and he’ll be just fine, okay?” 

Chris nods, eyes wide behind his glasses. He must have gotten them from his room, and Eddie’s not surprised he wouldn’t want to go back to sleep with everything going on. Eddie realizes then, looking back at his son, that he can’t exactly leave to take Buck back to a hospital right now. But Buck definitely needs to go. 

“I need you to get me my phone,” He tells Chris. He starts to say more but Buck chooses that moment to tense and twist, trying to get out of Eddie’s grip. “Whoa, hey—”

Buck pulls himself away and reaches clumsily for the toilet again, barely catching himself before he cracks his skull open a second time tonight. Eddie’s worry mounts until he’s nearly choking on it when Buck lets out a whimper and gags again, hardly bringing up more than bile.

It’s over within a moment, and Buck’s energy is completely spent. He sags forward and Eddie instinctively dives to catch him, but Buck just slumps further until he’s resting his head against the toilet seat. Eddie barely refrains from wrinkling his nose at the sight. In any other situation it would be disgusting, but Buck’s eyes roll beneath his eyelids until he’s looking blearily up at Eddie again, and he looks so exhausted that Eddie can’t bring himself to care about anything else. 

"Sucks," Buck says, pressing his face to the cool porcelain. Eddie hums sympathetically and rubs Buck’s back lightly, right between his shoulder blades. 

"I think you've gotta go back to the hospital," he says quietly. 

"No," Buck groans, shakes his head, and then grimaces at the tiny movement. "Don't wanna go back. I hate hospitals."

"I know, man, I know,” Eddie says, “But I think you have a concussion, and you and I both know that's not something to mess with.” 

He doesn’t even know how much Buck is taking in right now. Buck doesn’t respond, just blinks slowly at Eddie. His eyes flutter closed. 

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says quickly, tapping Buck on the cheek again. Buck scrunches his eyes closed harder, but even that small action looks like it hurts, and a tear leaks out from the corner of one eye. He drags them back open when Eddie taps him again, and Eddie manages a relieved smile. 

“There you are,” he says, and brushes the tear away gently with his thumb. “Stay awake.” 

Chris comes back with the phone then, charging cord still dangling from it like he’d just grabbed the whole thing in his haste to get it back to Eddie. Eddie’s heart swells a little at the sight; it’s never been more clear that his kid loves Buck just as much as Eddie does, if not more.

“Can you come sit with Buck for a minute, bud?” Eddie asks, wanting to give him something to do other than stand there and watch. “Just talk to him. I need to make a call.”

Eddie straightens up as Chris comes in to take his place next to Buck, but he only half turns away as he gets his phone unlocked. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off of Buck, even if Chris is talking to him and Buck is trying his best to keep his eyes open and listen. 

He pauses momentarily when he gets to his contacts. Who would he even call? An ambulance would be the obvious choice, but the siren would wake the whole neighbourhood and the ride would cost an arm and a leg in the long run. Besides, he hates the thought of sending Buck off alone, and there’s no way he’s leaving Chris here on his own, or taking him along to a hospital in the current state of the world. 

_ Bobby,  _ he settles on, spotting his name at the top of the list. He’s a light sleeper, and he’ll wake up to the phone. He’ll be there in an instant if Eddie asks, and Buck won’t have to be alone. 

The phone has barely begun to ring when Buck starts to struggle upright again, breathing harsh and quick as he props himself up over the toilet bowl for round three. Or maybe four. Eddie’s not sure how long he’d been at it before Chris woke him up. Chris makes a startled noise and looks up, but Eddie doesn’t have time to say anything because the next thing he knows, Bobby is picking up. 

"Eddie?" Bobby asks, voice thick with sleep. "Why are you calling me at....1am?"

"It's Buck," Eddie says without preamble. There's another retching sound from beside him, and then a choked off moan as the movement no doubt jostles Buck's aching head. It’s just dry heaving by this point, nothing coming up. Eddie reaches for him again with the hand not holding the phone, but Chris is already there, one small hand rubbing Buck’s back just like Eddie had been doing mere moments earlier. 

“What’s going on?” Bobby asks immediately, sounding far more alert than just a second before. There’s the rustle of sheets on the other end of the line, and what sounds like Athena’s voice asking something. 

“He must have hit his head back in that factory,” Eddie explains, “He claims he didn’t know—”

“He what?” Bobby cuts in, “But Hen—”

“I know,” Eddie says sharply, “and he seemed alright earlier, but now—he’s got all the symptoms of a concussion, Bobby. He needs to go back to the hospital. I would take him, but...” 

“But you’ve got Christopher,” Bobby finishes, clearly understanding where this is going before Eddie says it. “I’m on my way. I’ll take him in, just keep him awake until I get there.” 

“Thank you, Bobby,” Eddie says earnestly, though he knows he doesn’t have to. “I’ll leave the door open for you.” 

He hangs up after an assurance that Bobby will get there as quickly as he can, and returns his attention to Buck, who has slumped back to sit against the wall this time. 

“Chris, I need you to go unlock the door so Bobby can come in when he gets here,” Eddie instructs, “Can you do that for me?” 

Chris nods, and only hesitates in the doorway for a second before he turns away down the hall towards the front door. Eddie lowers himself down next to Buck on the cool tile and presses up against his side, just to feel the heat where their thighs touch, just to make sure Buck isn’t actually dying on his bathroom floor. 

“I called Bobby,” he says gently, “he’s gonna come get you. He’ll take you to the hospital.” 

Buck is slow to respond, dragging his unfocused gaze away from where he’d been staring down at his hands up to Eddie’s face. He makes a quiet, unhappy noise. “Not you?” 

“No, not me,” Eddie says. Buck drops his head to rest against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie slips his arm across his shoulders and brings a hand up to card his fingers through Buck’s hair, careful to avoid the painful spot on his temple. “But Bobby will take good care of you. I know he will.” 

Buck hums, half coherent. Eddie glances down just to make sure his eyes are still open. It can’t be very long before he hears the door open and Bobby’s hushed voice talking to his son. Chris hadn’t even returned from unlocking the door before Bobby got there—Chris might not be the fastest kid in the world, but Eddie still doesn’t want to think about what kind of laws Bobby broke to get here so quickly. He can hear them coming back up the hallway, Chris leading the way. 

“Alright, Buck,” Eddie says, shifting him slightly from his position. “We’re gonna have to get up now.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response, because he knows it’ll only be a protest. He moves as carefully as he can, sliding his arm underneath Buck’s and lifting. Buck is practically a deadweight, struggling to find his footing, and a drawn-out pained groan follows them all the way up from the floor. 

Bobby appears behind Chris in the darkened hallway just as Eddie gets Buck to his feet. The light spilling out from the bathroom lights his face in stark relief and Eddie can see the second he takes in the sight they must make, with Buck leaning half-conscious against Eddie’s shoulder. Buck stares at him with a glazed, heavy lidded gaze. 

Bobby snaps into action quickly, and Eddie couldn’t be more grateful because when Buck is hardly standing on his own, he’s  _ heavy.  _ Eddie gets them out of the small room with his fair share of stumbling, wincing at every small whine from Buck when his head is jostled. By the time they make it to the hallway where there’s enough room for Bobby to slip in at Buck’s other side, Buck seems to have found his footing, however precarious. He does his best to take his own weight as they make their way to the front door, but it’s still fairly slow going. 

For the first and probably only time, Eddie is glad Buck never unties his shoes. It means Eddie can guide him into sluggishly slipping them on, and he won’t have to go barefoot. He lists against Bobby, mumbling something faintly, but neither of them can tell what it is. Bobby shushes him gently. 

“I’ve got him, Eddie,” Bobby says, shifting to take a bit more of Buck’s weight. Eddie hurries to get the door open, and goes ahead to do the same for Bobby’s car. 

In his worry, it all seems to blur and before he knows it they’ve got Buck settled in the passenger seat, and Bobby is promising to call with an update before pulling out of the driveway and taking off. 

Eddie stares after them until the car disappears out of sight around the bend. The panic that he’d pushed down to focus on Buck finally spills back up into his throat, and he sucks in a breath that’s far too thin and shaky for his liking. Buck had been hurt this whole time, and Eddie hadn’t known. Buck had been hurt this whole time, and Eddie had just sat through a movie and let him go to sleep, none the wiser—

“Dad?” Chris calls, and Eddie whirls around to find him standing in the still open door to the house. His eyes are still wide and scared, and Eddie remembers suddenly that he’d been the one to find Buck on the floor, hurt and sick and barely coherent. 

Eddie darts forward and wraps his son up in a hug, pressing his face into his curls. Chris hugs him back as tightly as he can manage. 

“Is Buck gonna be okay?” he asks. 

“Of course he is,” Eddie assures him, even through the anxiety clawing at his insides. “He’ll be just fine, because you were there, and you did just the right thing when you came to get me.” 

“You promise?” Chris asks, face still pressed into Eddie’s shirt. 

“I promise,” Eddie says. He presses a quick kiss to the top of his son’s head. “I’m so proud of you, kid.”

* * *

The house is still, in the wake of the chaos. After Eddie had ushered Chris back inside and settled on the couch, he’d set about making some hot chocolate. It never failed to help Chris calm down, and he thinks both of them need a little comforting warmth right now. Chris is only half awake when Eddie carries two mugs into the living room, given the fact that it’s nearly two in the morning. 

Eddie takes one look at him and knows he’ll never agree to get back in bed, but he’s not long from falling asleep again either. So Eddie settles himself in one corner of the couch, lifts one arm so Chris can snuggle up against his side, and grabs the remote from the side table to turn a movie on with the volume low. 

He’s not really watching, more just staring at the screen as he goes over the events of the night in his head. He can’t help but feel like he should have noticed something sooner. He also knows, logically, that if there had been anything obvious enough to notice before Buck got hit hard and fast with it, they would have caught it long before Eddie brought him home. The knowledge doesn’t make him feel any better. 

Just before the credits roll, Chris starts to breathe more evenly at Eddie’s side and Eddie grabs his empty mug before it can slide out of his slack fingers. He leans forward just enough to set it on the coffee table, only to realize the thing is halfway across the room, and the carpet is bunched up a little beneath it. Eddie frowns, setting the mug down on the floor beside him instead. 

He’d been so caught up in everything else that by the time he sat down, he hadn’t even noticed—but the living room is a mess. It looks like Buck knocked into practically every obstacle on his way, and with the way the blanket Eddie had given him was twisted up by the corner of the couch like he’d tripped over it, it’s a miracle they found him upright in the bathroom rather than face down on the carpet. 

The thought of Buck stumbling, disoriented and in pain, through a dark house on his own—and Eddie hadn’t heard a thing. Something sours in his stomach, and he grabs the remote again to turn on another movie. He doesn’t even care what it is, just hits play; anything to take him out of his guilt-ridden thoughts while he waits for news. 

Halfway through, his eyes are starting to burn. Chris sleeps on, thankfully. Eddie blinks and rubs at an eye furiously with his knuckles, trying to keep himself awake, just until he hears from Bobby. 

And then, just as he finishes that thought, his phone buzzes. He snatches it up as the screen lights up, and swipes to answer in one quick movement. 

“Bobby,” Eddie says, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his sleeping son, “Is he okay?” 

“You were right; he’s got a concussion, probably from that fall he took yesterday, but he’s going to be fine,” Bobby explains, voice filled with a relief that Eddie feels mirrored in himself. “They want to keep him here for a few hours to monitor him, but he already seems more aware than he was earlier.” 

“Thank  _ god,”  _ Eddie says, blowing out a heavy breath. “You don’t think they’ll keep him overnight?” 

“The night’s half over already, Eddie,” Bobby laughs softly, “but no. With the way things are these days—they hardly had a bed to spare when I got him here. I don’t think they’ll want him here longer than strictly necessary.” 

“But he’s okay,” Eddie says. He’s not, not really. If he was he wouldn’t have nearly passed out on Eddie’s floor. Eddie knows that.

“He’s okay,” Bobby agrees easily, sounding confident enough that it helps to ease the anxiety anyway, because it means Buck is in the hands of one of the only people Eddie trusts more than himself. It means he  _ will  _ be okay, even if he isn’t now. “He’ll need someone to stay with him, though, so I’ll—”

“Bring him back here,” Eddie cuts in quickly. “Please. I need to…”

He trails off, not sure how to finish that sentence out of the million things he could have said. He needs to know that Buck is safe. He needs to see it for himself. He needs to take care of him so he knows that someone, at least, is doing it right. 

“I know,” Bobby says, suddenly sounding far too knowing. “I’ll give you a heads up when we’re on our way back. Get some sleep until then, alright?” 

Eddie hums an affirmative and Bobby says goodbye, hanging up before Eddie can think of anything more to ask. He shuts the movie off. He honestly has no real idea what was happening in this one either, and he can feel sleep tugging at him. Now, with the assurance that Buck is taken care of, Eddie lets himself drift off again.

* * *

Eddie wakes just after dawn to morning sun seeping in past the curtains, lighting the whole room up with soft blue. He’s got a crick in his neck from sleeping upright, and there’s a wet spot on his shirt where Chris had drooled on him. 

Buck isn’t there, and Eddie wishes he was. 

He reaches for his phone, careful not to jostle Chris, and finds the notification light blinking back at him. There’s a text from Bobby, time stamped for ten minutes ago, that just reads:  _ On our way back now.  _

It won’t take them much longer to get back, and Eddie needs to open the door for them again, so he carefully extricates himself from underneath Christopher and gets up. He shuffles around in the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, despite it being so early. He knows he won’t get much more sleep anyway. 

Chris rolls over in his sleep. Eddie watches for a moment through the kitchen doorway, before setting his mug down and moving to lift his sleeping son into his arms. It’s as good a time as any to get him back in his bed before he’s woken up by Buck and Bobby’s return, and he hardly even stirs when Eddie picks him up. 

They make it all the way to the bedroom before he blinks awake. Eddie is just lowering him down onto the mattress when Chris shifts and looks up at him. 

“Dad?” he asks sleepily, voice muffled around a yawn, “Is Buck back?”

“Not yet, bud,” Eddie whispers. He lifts the covers and tucks them up around Christopher’s shoulders. “But they’re on their way. You can check on him a bit later, okay?”

“Okay…” Chris agrees, already halfway to sleep again. Eddie leans close to give him a quick kiss on the forehead as he starts snoring again softly. Then he stands from the edge of the bed and slips out of the room, making sure to leave the door open just a crack.

As soon as he makes it back to the kitchen and collects his coffee, there’s a knock on the front door. True to his estimate, they’ve gotten back less than half an hour after he’d gotten the text. Eddie hurries to flip the lock and swing the door open wide, revealing Bobby partially supporting an exhausted Buck. He’s squinting against the early morning sunlight and the circles under his eyes look darker than Eddie has ever seen them, but he’s alive and alert and he’s home. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he greets, voice quiet. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, grinning brightly. He’s so relieved to see Buck that he doesn’t think twice about reaching for his hand to help him back inside. “Come on.” 

Buck follows willingly, with Bobby at his back to lend more support if he needs it. He seems steadier on his feet now, though. 

Buck grimaces as he takes in the state of the living room when they pass. “Sorry about the table.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie says. He steers Buck down the hall towards his bedroom, because there’s no way he’s giving him the couch again when he’s injured. “There’s a bed with your name on it waiting for you.” 

It’s practically the same routine as earlier, with Chris—Bobby hovers in the doorway while Eddie gently bullies Buck into the bed, with a promise to wake him in a few hours to make sure his brain isn’t any more scrambled. Buck is dead tired and nearly asleep by the time his head hits the pillow, but he still reaches out and grabs for Eddie before he can pull away. 

“Chris,” Buck starts, when Eddie stills and looks back at him. “He okay? Didn’t mean to scare him.” 

“He’s fine, Buck,” Eddie assures him. “And he’ll be happy to see you after you get some rest.” 

“Good,” Buck says. He’s asleep before Eddie can respond.

Eddie swallows hard around a lump in his throat as he turns away from the bed, locking eyes with Bobby. He can feel the guilt bubbling up again, full force. Bobby steps away from the door and Eddie follows—he makes sure to leave the door open, just a crack. Just so he won’t miss anything again. 

Bobby turns a look on him as soon as they make it to the front hall. “This isn’t your fault, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie says, because he does. “But it feels like it is.”

“You couldn’t have known something was going on,” Bobby insists. “Two other trained professionals gave him the all-clear before you even saw him. The fact that he was here, with you, when things got bad? That made this turn out far better than it could have if he was back at his apartment all alone.” 

Eddie chews on his own thoughts for a second, and then he steps forward and pulls his captain into a quick hug. “Thank you. For picking up when I called, and for—for coming to get him.” 

“I’ll always be here when either of you need me,” Bobby answers. He steps back and smiles warmly. “I’ll get out of your hair before Athena gets too worried. Take care of him.” 

“I will,” Eddie says. “He’s in good hands.” 

Eddie’s not sure he really believes that, but he  _ is  _ sure that he’ll do his best despite that. He’d give anything to make sure Buck is safe, and Bobby looks like he knows that too.

“I know he is,” Bobby agrees, and slips out of the door quietly enough that the click of the latch is hardly audible when it closes behind him. 

Eddie turns to survey the house. It’s a mess, really, and he supposes he should deal with that before he has to wake Buck, but he also can’t resist the urge to check on him just one more time. Just to make sure he’s still there, still breathing. The mess can wait another minute. 

He pokes his head into Christopher’s room on the way, finding his son still sleeping soundly despite the noise from a few moments ago. Good. He closes the door again and heads for his own room, flattening a palm against the door to push it open just far enough that he can see Buck. 

Buck’s chest rises and falls evenly, and it’s almost enough to quell the last of Eddie’s anxiety. He’s tired, suddenly, standing there in the doorway. A restless night finally catching up with him, despite the coffee. He’s just about to head back to the front of the house to clean up—or maybe just crash on the couch again—when Buck shifts and then picks his head up slightly, peering over at Eddie. 

“Eddie?” he asks. 

Eddie steps farther into the room on instinct, moving closer before he even finds out what Buck needs. “Yeah, I’m here. You need something?” 

Buck just squints up at him, still barely awake. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Eddie snorts, “Is that all?” 

“Go to sleep,” Buck mumbles, eyes falling closed again. He pulls one arm out from under the sheets and pats the wide expanse of the bed next to him. “There’s enough room.” 

“Buck—” Eddie starts. He cuts himself off when Buck just rolls back over, curling onto his side. Eddie sighs. He  _ is  _ tired, and there  _ is  _ enough room, and he’s pretty sure Buck just fell asleep again anyway. 

So he sets the alarm on his phone for two hours from now, and slides into the empty space next to Buck. 

As soon as he’s laying down, Buck shuffles around a little until his back is pressed to Eddie’s side. Eddie supposes it probably should feel awkward, but as far as he can tell Buck is still asleep, and the rhythmic sound of his breathing is doing wonders to reassure Eddie that Buck isn’t going to disappear on him. His best friend is right here, and he’s not going anywhere. 

Eddie lays there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and just listening to Buck breathe, before he moves his arm to give Buck a little more room to move. Buck rolls over and unconsciously presses himself further into Eddie’s space, and Eddie finally feels himself relax. 

**Author's Note:**

> ofc thank you to [Griffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yawnralphio/pseuds/yawnralphio) for being pretty much the only reason this fic got finished, and for betaing and putting up with my overthinking lmao 
> 
> and [Cameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyAudacity/pseuds/ShyAudacity) for being a wonderful beta i love u
> 
> now pls leave me a comment w fav parts/lines/whatever bc i need validation :)) and you can follow me on [tumblr](https://herodiaz.tumblr.com/)


End file.
